


Anti-Depressants

by Darking



Series: Anti-Depressants [1]
Category: Antisepticeye - Fandom, Darkiplier - Fandom, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Antisepticeye Sean McLoughlin, Darkiplier Mark Fischbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 14:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12110553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darking/pseuds/Darking
Summary: Jack can't deny it any longer . . . he needs help.





	Anti-Depressants

It’s funny, he thought, turning the little white pill over in his hands. He had been on this apparent “solution” for a little over a month now, and he still couldn’t get used to the sensation in his hands. Such a small tablet that could have such a major effect at suppressing his other self. His alternate. His enigma. The little “10” imprinted in one side. Such a low dose, and yet . . .

-

Despite the initial fight that it took him to even get into the clinic, he was grateful for his friends who had pushed him this far. He was grateful for Robin, who had taken time out of his busy editing schedule to Skype with him late one night.

“You really need help, man.”

“It ‘tisn’t a big deal. I’ve been dealing wit’ ‘im t’roughout my whole life.”

“Yeah, but t’is isn’t some simple case.”

“I feel like a psychopath.”

“Case and point.”

Robin had stared at him apologetically, emphasizing his words with a glance, before quickly softening them.

“Look, you do so much for o’ters. You’re the kindest dude I know. But now . . .” Robin made a point to look deliberately, almost forcefully, into Jack’s eyes, “You need t’ do somet’ing to take care of yourself. You can’t last like t’is.”

-

And that was the beginning. Robin had suggested therapy, which Jack immediately reeled at before he began to actually consider it. It wasn’t like he could exactly march into some shrink’s office and say “Hey! I’m Jack, pleased to meet’cha! I’m a youtuber who dedicates his life to making others smile, but I am also cripplingly suicidal due to a separate entity in my body that encompasses all the psychosis of who I truly am! His name’s Anti by the way! If you ever swing by my place between the time of stopping-recordings and suffocating myself to sleep o’clock, then you might even get the chance to meet ‘im sometime!”

There were certain . . . rules against bringing up things that sounded just as crazy as they really were. Too bad there was no actual free speech in therapy.

Nonetheless, he still found himself wandering into a small, yet cozy room one day as a part of some free gimmick the local community center was putting on. He saw a flier and decided that he’d go, for Robin if nothing else. Even if he was a stubborn bastard sometimes.

An oddly calm woman held the door for him, motioning for him to sit down on the little red love seat that was just barely wide enough to fit two people, but worn and small and cozy. The walls hugged the sofa, making the office feel even smaller than it already was.

She had him sign a form that explicitly told him what she would have to report to the authorities if he spoke on them.

Thoughts of suicide? _Check._

Abuse of self or others? _Check._

 _Welp,_ _a shit load of help this will be._

Despite not being able to discuss the real root of the problem, he talked to her about stressors and the expectations everyone had for him. He discussed some personal family matters. Just glazing over things, really. Never going too deep. Just addressing different things here and there.

Not more than ten minutes in and she stopped him.

“I think regular therapy could be an excellent option for you.”

This was supposed to be a drop-in session, not an extended recommendation process, but he listened to her in earnest, even as she passed him various fliers with different plans through the community center.

As soon as she was done speaking, he politely stood, smiling softly, and left.

He never went back.

-

The next person to say something was his friend Wade. He was generally a jokester and had some truly horrific puns up his sleeve at all times, but they smiled easily around each other and had a sort of natural vibe going.

Jack had recently posted a picture to his Instagram of him in a more Anti-state. The fans, who thought Anti was nothing more than a clever character of Jack’s, were ecstatic.

However, no more than twenty minutes later, Wade texted him.

Wade: Hey Jack, u doing okay?

And, for the first time ever, he had to be honest.

Jack: No. I’m afraid I’m actually not. But it’s a long story, and I’ll be fine. How are you handling things?

Wade: Jack. You know I’m always here for you, right? Do you want to talk? What time is it over there?

Jack: Not too late.

Jack: And thanks, Wade.

Jack: I’ll take you up on that phone call.

Wade listened patiently, not rushing or pressing Jack. Only asking questions when he felt it would help the situation.

_How long has it been like this?_

_When does the other come out?_

_Would you ever go through with suicide?_

Jack answered each question to the best of his ability, sometimes having to pause to gather his thoughts.

_Years._

_When I just can’t handle things anymore._

_Only if he ever became a real threat to the ones I loved._

By the time Wade had ended the call, hours had passed. Jack felt tingly. He finally told someone all the things on his mind. He felt terrible for passing his weighty burden onto someone else, but maybe that was why he felt so much lighter. Or maybe having a friend tell him it would be alright did that. Either way, he slept easily, which was a massive luxury these days.

It was 3am when he awoke to the sound of screaming.

It took him a second to realize it was his own voice.

His eyes wrenched open as he felt a thick liquid run down his hands. He jumped from his bed, stumbling upon landing, and then rushed to the mirror. The sight before him was horrific.

Blood covered almost every surface of his body. The red seeped into his very pores, and it began to darken and brown as it dried.

_Why had he decided to wear a white shirt to bed?_

_Feckin’ idiot, you know to wear the black shirts._

_But, how could I have known this was going to happen?_

_I gave ya plenty of warning, bitch._

_A small buzz in the back of the head doesn’t coun’ as warning! And . . . and . . . why was he having a discussion with himself over a shirt?! He clearly just killed someone!_

_Check yer hands again ye big idiot._

He gazed down at his hands and now noticed the large slashes across his palms. He pulled on his mirror and opened the medicine cabinet beneath, quickly grabbing the bandages he kept for cases like these, before wrapping both hands and firmly securing them with a safety pin.

_What did ya even do this wit’?_

Jack roamed around the house, following the drips of blood that ultimately led to the kitchen. He sighed, already fed up with the constant games, before pulling a particularly large knife out of the cutting block. it came out with a large squelch and, even in the dim lighting, Jack could see the blood coating the knife and the block amply.

_I used my favorite for my favorite little fucktoy._

_Shut the hell up, Anti._

Jack turned to the mirror that was mounted just mere feet away and held up the knife. His eyes looked worn and emaciated due to the heavy blood loss ad he could feel the light-headedness setting in. He had to admit that the knife fit well in the scenario. His own blood congealing and drying over the knife, the bandages tied around his hands, the sickly demeanor . . .

Jack softly smiled then, finally letting the exhaustion he had been holding back for so many years seep in. He was just _so_ tired. _So very tired._ And so sick of dealing with it all.

He set the knife on the kitchen counter and downed a glass of water before walking back to his bedroom. Despite the ungodly hour, he picked up his phone and, after pausing for what could have been upwards of half an hour, dialed.

Riiiiiiing . . .

_It’s too late in the evening. I’m going to fuck everything up._

Riiiiiiing . . .

_You’re not'ing but a worthless piece of meat. You’d be better off dead. I can grant you relief._

Riiiiiiing . . .

_I’m just so tired . . ._

Riiiiiiiiing . . .

_Just give in._

Riiiiiiiiing . . .

_Maybe. Just for tonight, I could let you . . ._

“Hello?”

The sudden sleepy voice on the line startled Jack, making him jump.

“M-Merk? I’m so sorry for wakin’ ya, I’ll call anot’er time.” Jack began to motion towards the end call button, but was stopped by the shift in Mark’s voice.

“No, no. What is it, Jack? You know muuuuuuhhhh, sorry, I’m yawning, you can call me at any time. Besides, everyone else is out tonight, I was just asleep in my rum.”

“I jus’, I’m so tired, Merk. I’m so tired and done. I don’ know w’at to do anymore.”

“Jack, tell me what’s going on.’

“‘ts a long story, an’ I know I already woke ya.”

“I have all night. Tell me about it.”

And so, after some further encouragement from Mark, Jack explained. The late-night wakings. The voice that was constantly in his head. His inability to function. How much his videos were being effected. _Everything._ And then he was teary-eyed and finished, words spilled through the phone line and hours passing, and truly, _truly,_ exhausted.

“I wish I was there so I could hug you.”

And that was all Jack needed to hear as he, finally, drifted off into sleep . . .

-

He rolled the tablet over in his hands, remembering how often he had suppressed things until, eventually, he just couldn’t anymore. If it hadn’t been for Robin, for Wade, for Mark, he never would have gotten the help he needed.

Mark, for some reason or another, seemed to know a specialist who would listen to his rather unique circumstances. He told Jack what he could and couldn’t say and they rehearsed it over Skype. She had listened. And been very nice. And given him medication. And if anyone other than Mark had suggested it, he would have immediately thrown them off a bridge, but it was _Mark_ , so he tried it.

He hadn’t heard Anti’s voice in over a month and his life was becoming increasingly normal. He made himself an egg for breakfast and sat himself at the dinner table, eating in blissful silence, before swallowing the, still foreign, little pill with a glass of orange juice (extra pulp, just how he liked it).

And things, for once, were alright.

And that was more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I can guarantee that this is just the beginning (heh heh heh). In all honesty, I have been wanting to build off of this concept for a while now, so please let me know what you think! And this is my first official (posted) fanfiction, so comments and critiques are always welcomed! Thank you again!


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